


vanguard

by eluviahn



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biotic Connor, Biotics (Mass Effect), Blow Jobs, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Mass Effect AU, Mercenary Captain Hank, Rimming, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-02-01 07:43:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21444031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eluviahn/pseuds/eluviahn
Summary: "Hank Anderson could have been sitting at Citadel high command ten years ago, but it wouldn’t change the fact that Connor hates dealing with mercenaries, and especially hates asking anyone that’s thrown themselves in with the lot of them for help."Markus suggests Mercenary Captain Hank Anderson as a weapons expert for their fight against the Collectors. Connor is skeptical.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 18
Kudos: 119





	vanguard

**Author's Note:**

> happy week-late n7 day! this is shameless self-indulgence bc i love mass effect 2, i love omega, and hank is very sexy 2 me
> 
> there is some canon-typical violence described but nothing too graphic
> 
> listen to the two songs that play in afterlife if you want music for this, that's what i had on repeat the entire time i was writing 
> 
> and please enjoy!

He isn’t sure whether to be pissed or interested in Markus’ recommendation for a weapon’s expert. Markus takes forever in his briefing to mention the phrases “mercenary band captain” and “located on Omega” because he knows the face Connor will pull, and he knows the lecture it’ll bring. Hank Anderson could have been sitting at Citadel high command ten years ago, but it wouldn’t change the fact that Connor hates dealing with mercenaries, and _especially _hates asking anyone that’s thrown themselves in with the lot of them for help. It looks like being pissed wins out in the end.

Markus stops him before he can complain. “I know your mind’s going haywire, and I _know_ you’d rather die, but I wouldn’t have suggested him if I didn’t think it was a good idea. You know better than anyone that we need to put together an unbelievable team for this, and you _also_ know that not everyone best suited for the job is going to be “council approved.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “Council approved,” he mirrors Markus’ air quotes, “isn’t the issue here. You think _you_ weren’t on their literal shit list?”

Markus scoffs good-naturedly but lets him continue.

“I don’t trust mercenaries and I don’t trust Aria. Andersons’ probably a maniac if he’s both captain of a merc band _and _working for her.”

Markus leans back against where he’s perched on Connor’s desk with a sigh. “I’ve looked into his service history. He used to be Alliance- real high up. He’s got _extensive_ experience with any weapon you could imagine, and then some. I can’t vouch for his character, but he is more than qualified for the position.”

“Besides,” Markus continues with a smirk, “you’ll get to visit Omega. I hear he hangs out in Afterlife most of the time.”

“What makes you think that’s a selling point?” Connor crosses his arms defensively and gives Markus a pointed look.

“Best club in the Milky Way? Great drinks, great music, and sexy patrons at every turn? We’ve gone there together Connor- I really don’t have to be listing these things off to you.”

And he’s right, as much as Connor hates to admit it. He hates Omega and the reputation its gathered, but he can’t deny his love of Aria T’loak’s most prized business venture. He loves the seedy atmosphere of Afterlife, despite the people that frequent the club, and he’s been wanting to go back ever since receiving his Spectre status. He scrolls through Hank Anderson’s dossier in an attempt to hide his intrigue. He can’t let Markus know that clubbing is an easy way to get him to agree to a risky endeavor, weapons expert recruitment or not.

Anderson’s experience is extensive, and he’s got a clean track record apart from the mercenary work. There’s an old photo attached from his military days, and Connor chides himself at the immediate thought that he’s handsome. He’s going gray in the image from ten years ago, so it’s safe to assume he’ll be fully silver-haired now. There’s a mention of deceased family under the section discussing his departure from the military, but Connor feels uncomfortable reading so extensively about the personal life of a man he’s never met.

Connor sighs, long and hard. He scrubs at his eyes, but sees Anderson’s own bright, blue, _distracting_ pair when he does. He snaps his eyes open quickly to look back at Markus with a scowl.

“Fine. We’ll set course for Omega tomorrow. You and North are coming with me. _If _we find Anderson, I will _consider _making him an offer.”

Markus’ grin is shit-eating when he grabs his tablet back from Connor’s desk. “_Finally_, some shore leave.”

“Get out before I throw you out.” Connor’s hand glows a threatening blue as he jerks a finger to point at the door to his office.

Markus raises both hands in mock-surrender as he walks out, but the smug look he wears is obvious, even when he turns away.

-

Omega is exactly as Connor remembers- dirty, dark, and brimming with criminal activity. He doesn’t send word to Aria that he’s coming, though he knows she’ll find out he’s there sooner or later. Thankfully, it’s been long enough since he’s been here that no one at the entrance of Afterlife should be able to recognize him.

North and Markus chatter good-naturedly behind him as Connor weaves through the masses in the dock. There seems to be more buzz than usual, and from what he can hear people are evacuating one of the residential districts. Connor hopes there’s not another plague spreading through the slums. Omega has probably gained thousands more inhabitants in the years since he’s been there, and a plague would tear through the entire asteroid with lightning speed. Markus seems to have the same thought as he mimes a cough to Connor from where he’s standing.

They get inside Afterlife with little problems. Connor flashes the badge on his omniblade with a glare and the Batarian at the door gets out of their way with a sneer. Connor could hear the booming music from the docks, but walking inside the club is an assault on the senses. The bass pounds harshly in his ears as he scans the main level. Aria is probably perched somewhere, watching from above, but Connor doesn’t have the time or patience to find her. If she really has need of him, or has a problem that he’s there, she’ll send for someone to find him.

Markus comes close to shout in Connor’s ear over the music. “Anderson should be in the VIP area. It looks like his company is gearing up for an ambush on some new gang, from what I’ve heard.”

“What’s the access code for the VIP area?”

“I’m working on it,” Markus shouts in reply.

Connor spies a patron at the bar eyeing them curiously. Seeing the N7 stripe is probably not the most comforting site. North moves closer to yell above the onslaught of sound as well. “We might not be able to follow you in. Your rank should get you through, but I don’t have to tell you Omega doesn’t show respect any farther than that,” North shouts.

Connor shakes his head. “It’s fine, I was planning to go in myself anyways. You two stay close to the VIP entrance, I’ll send word if I need anything.”

His subordinates nod and follow Connor down to the bottom level of the club. The music here is even louder, and clearly meant for getting the blood pumping. There are dozens of patrons dancing across the entirety of the floor, and there are Asari table dancers expertly positioned at every seating area. The devil works hard, but Aria T’loak works harder.

Connor is almost disappointed that this is a work mission. He scolds himself for wishing they could spare a moment to let loose, maybe actually dance amongst the sweaty bodies and lose themselves to the music, the way Afterlife makes it so easy to do. The last time he was here, he and Markus were still stationed on Omega to keep the peace. It feels like a lifetime ago. There’s a Turian bartender expertly slinging drinks and Connor looks away quickly before he can feel his throat itching for one.

Markus points ahead to the VIP entrance. “The password is Jaruut.” There’s only one bouncer, a Krogan with a permanent glare, but Connor figures he won’t give him much shit if he already knows the key inside.

North and Markus disperse after a nod from Connor, both finding spots near the door to attempt to blend in. Connor figures either one or both of them will end up tipsy and on the dance floor by the time he’s finished talking to Anderson. He envies them a little. He’d much rather get drunk than deal with a mercenary gang leader that he’s already admitted to himself is attractive. Hopefully the years will have done their work on his appearance, and Connor won’t bear the risk of getting distracted.

Connor gets through the entrance with little more than an annoyed grunt and a pointed glance at his N7 emblem from the bouncer. The VIP area is massive, but significantly less populated than the rest of the club. There’s yelling and boisterous laughter coming from the couches across the room, somehow loud enough to be heard over the still-booming bass. Connor’s take a spot at the bar and scans the room for Anderson. There’s no clear sign of him, but Connor spots a distinctly silver mop of hair in the corner of the room. He decides to confirm his suspicions and loosen his nerves before heading over.

The bartender raises a brow when Connor motions her over.

“Just give me a shot of something strong- anything. And I have a question for you.”

“I might have an answer.”

Connor leans closer, face kept carefully blank. “I hear Hank Anderson is here. You know where I can find him?”

The Asari slides over a fluorescent green shot and jerks a thumb toward the area where Connor saw the silver head. “Over there, he’s sitting in the corner. If you wanna start a fight, take it somewhere else. Aria will have you thrown out in a heartbeat.”

Connor nods at her warning. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

The bartender moves to another patron without another glance towards him, and Connor waves his omnitool to tip her generously in thanks. It’s almost never that easy to find someone, let alone gather information from a stranger. He downs his drink with a grimace and looks towards the couches in the far corner. He can see Anderson clearly now where’s he’s sitting, flanked by an Asari and a young human man, both probably dancers, from the way they’re dressed. Anderson looks nothing like his dossier image. His hair is long, stark silver, and tied loosely in a bun behind his head. He has a long, thick beard, equally as silver, and somewhat fitting for his face. The only thing Connor recognizes without a doubt is the piercing blue of his eyes, and an uncomfortable nervousness settles in his gut when they move to meet Connor’s gaze from across the room.

Anderson replies to something another patron must have yelled at him, but keeps his eyes trained on Connor. It’s unnerving, in more ways than one. His gaze is hungry, almost predatory, and Connor chides himself again for being at all affected by it. It seems he had jinxed himself in wishing Anderson would’ve grown _less _attractive. He pushes himself off the bar with a scowl and makes his way towards the other side of the room.

Anderson’s infuriating smirk remains as Connor approaches, and he murmurs something to the dancers that makes them promptly get up and leave. Connor wonders briefly if the mercenary captain actually recognizes him somehow and expects him to make a scene. He easily could make one, if things do suddenly take a turn for the worse. Maybe he’ll get lucky and Anderson will just outright refuse him. It would make things so much easier.

The older man props his legs up on the table as Connor approaches, somehow managing to look even more smug for absolutely no reason at all. He’s wearing a bulky set of soldier’s armor painted navy blue across the chest. It makes him look even larger than his stature alone would, and Connor is annoyed yet again at the thrill that runs through him at the realization. Connor has seen him in person for all of five minutes and he can already assert to himself that Hank Anderson is intimidating, imposing, and just _massive_.

“Hank Anderson?”

“Who’s asking?” The deep baritone of his voice cuts through the club’s music easily. Imposing had been a correct assumption. Everything about Anderson, even his voice, is commanding. Connor suppresses a shudder.

“Commander Conner Stern. I have a few questions I was hoping to ask you.”

Hank’s hungry gaze has not wavered. He looks Connor up and down slowly, smirk still wide under his beard. “Am I in some sort of trouble, _Commander_?” The title rolls off his tongue with a lilt, and Connor can’t tell if it’s appreciative or teasing.

Connor crosses his arms and raises a questioning brow. “What makes you think that?”

Anderson uncrosses his legs and lets them rest, wide open, on the ground. It almost looks as if he’s waiting for a lap dance from one of the table dancers, maybe even inviting Connor to splay himself across his lap. Connor knows he’s being teased, and it serves no purpose other than to make his irritation with the entire situation flare.

“A council-appointed Spectre waltzes into the most crime-riddled, shit-hole asteroid in the galaxy, looking for me, and telling me he has questions. You tell me what I’m supposed to think.”

Great, he’d gone and jinxed himself _again_ earlier. Figures that Anderson would recognize him or have heard his name and the term “human Spectre” thrown around in rumors. Maybe it’s a good thing, Connor thinks. Maybe the fact that he knows he’s got all the authority in the galaxy will knock him down a few pegs.

It clearly does not.

Hank’s smirk is now a grin, turned shit-eating after Connor’s prolonged silence. He jerks his head toward the empty seat directly beside him, arm outstretched. “How about you come get comfortable and we can discuss what it is you’re curious about.”

Connor pointedly takes a seat as far away from him as possible while remaining in earshot. Anderson’s grin does not falter.

“I’ll make this as quick as I can Mr. Anderson-“

“Call me Hank, Commander.”

Connor grits his teeth at the interjection. He regrets ever introducing himself with his rank. He considers walking away and never looking back. Anderson is clearly a smug, self-absorbed, shithead- weapons expert or not. Does he even want someone like this on his crew?

Except, Markus would kill him if he didn’t at least try. And they’re desperate. They can’t afford to wait any longer.

Connor takes a deep breath and continues, schooling his expression. “There’s something going on that’s bigger than any of us. Hoards of the galaxy’s inhabitants are being abducted- vanishing without a trace. We believe the threat of the Collectors can no longer simply be considered a myth.”

Anderson’s grin drops at that, but he stays silent and his expression is unreadable. Connor hopes it’s a sign that he has his attention.

“I’ve been instructed to investigate these disappearances and find some kind of solution for what’s going on. For that, however, I need a crew of the most capable military minds I can find. I received intel that Hank Anderson was, at one point, the Alliance’s primary weapon’s expert.”

Connor is startled by the loud laugh Anderson gives. His shoulders shake and his head falls back as he guffaws, voice booming with the same intensity of the bass around them. Connor can almost feel it reverberate through his chest, beats matching the baritone. “You’re telling me- this is some sort of recruitment mission?”

Connor scowls, arms still crossed over his chest in defiance. “More like an offer for the most important job you could ever take.”

Anderson scoffs. “What the fuck makes you think I’d want to risk my life for you and your mission? Or that I don’t have plenty of other shit to take care of?”

Connor leans forward in his seat. He’s close enough now to catch the wrinkles around Anderson’s eyes, even in the lowlight of the club. “I’m not talking about a pathetic dispute amongst soldiers for hire. I’m talking about a threat to the entire galaxy. I am _certain_ no job on Omega could compare, no matter how much Aria is paying you.”

“You know what, _Commander_?” His tone is undeniably mocking now. Hank leans in closer as well, knees shifting to rest against Connor’s where he sits. His face is close, almost _too _close, and some loose hair slips from the tie on his head to frame his face. His bulk is somewhat overwhelming at this distance, and Connor finds himself torn between the desire to pull back and press closer. “I don’t think you know shit. And if you _did _know half the shit I have to deal with on this fucking rock, you’d hightail it back onto your council-appointed ship and be halfway back to the Citadel by now.”

The tension between them is almost thick enough to taste. Connor feels suffocated by both it and his anger. For the nth time, he resists the urge to get up and walk away. “It seems, Mr. Anderson,” he begins through gritted teeth, “that you don’t know _shit _either. You know I’m a Spectre, but don’t seem to understand what it takes to receive the rank.” Connor slams a hand on the table beside them, close enough to Hank that his fingers brush the older man’s leg. “Taking care of your business here before accepting is a given, as well as the fact that you’ll be _generously _compensated if you decide to take the job. I can understand your hesitation and your frustration, but don’t disrespect me without even a _shred _of knowledge about who I am.”

This seems to get Anderson’s attention, as it’s the first time in the night Connor has properly asserted his annoyance. He should’ve figured Hank would be the type of man to respond to authority, not niceties. Anderson is first to break apart the tension settled between them as he leans back in his seat again with a scowl. He takes a moment to respond, eyes trained on something in the distance.

When he does reply, it’s not what Connor expects to hear. “Collectors?”

It takes Connor a moment, but he nods. “We have good reason to believe they’re behind the abductions. And that they may be part of something bigger and much more sinister.”

Anderson reaches for his drink and downs the rest of it swiftly. There’s another glass resting next to where it sat, full and waiting. The scowl has not left his face. “Even if I wanted to save the fucking world… I’m committed to something big here, and Christ knows how long it’s going to take.”

Connor leans back against his seat, arms crossed again. “What’s the job?”

“Now, why the hell would I tell you that?” The smug gaze is back. Connor doesn’t waver.

“I may be able to help you, depending on what the job entails.”

“Dirty mercenary work wouldn’t get you in trouble back at the Citadel?” He says the words with a smirk, but he sounds like he’s actually curious.

“I thought you knew who I was,” Connor starts with a questioning look. “Spectres are authorized to do whatever is necessary for their mission. There’s finally no Alliance leash tugging me along and telling me what to do.”

This gets a chuckle out of the older man, maybe the first good-natured one he’s let out all night. He nods in what must be agreement. Annoyance with the military’s tactics may be the only common ground they share. “Looks like someone’s got a problem with authority.” 

_Exactly the opposite,_ Connor thinks, and allows himself an appreciative lookover of Anderson’s figure. He’s met his quota for the night, he tells himself. _No distractions_. “I just didn’t agree with a lot of their practices. Now, do you want my help with this, or not?”

Anderson appears to contemplate his offer, glaring into his glass for a long beat. It seems he’s made his decision when he releases a frustrated sigh. “There’s a gang stationed on Omega making big money in trafficking- mostly human and Asari. Real scumbags. They were so under the radar, Aria only recently caught wind of it. She hired me and my company to find and kill the lot of them.” Anderson gestures at one of the traveling waiters to bring him another drink. “We know where they are, but not exactly how many or how well-protected they may be. We’ll be doing a raid tomorrow, mostly as an attempt to free any trafficking victims they’ve got locked up. Fuck knows what we’ll find.”

“Shit,” Connor mutters. He hadn’t expected something so sinister. “You don’t know anything about their numbers?”

“We know they’re a fairly new gang, so there’s no way they’ve grown any larger than our band. They might have hired their own mercs though, or some kind of protection. They’re holed up in one of the residential districts and they’ve rigged a lot of the visible surrounding areas with stationary artillery. I’d charge in there with the whole lot of us, but they’d tear through us all before we even got near the fuckin’ front door.”

Connor nods stiffly. “A smaller group would be best. Individuals best suited for taking out large numbers quickly and quietly.”

Anderson grunts in agreement. “I’ve got a group picked out already, we’re really just holding off for a bit so they don’t know we’re coming. Knowing Omega, though, they’ve probably got our entire fuckin’ itinerary by now.”

“I’ve got two expert marksmen on my crew, and I’m a biotic myself. We could join you in the raid. At the very least it should make cutting down their numbers a bit easier.”

Anderson raises a brow at Connor’s biotic admission but makes no comment. “You’re really serious about this Collector shit? I’ve heard almost nothing about the abductions. Seemed like somebody was trying to cover it up.”

Connor shakes his head. “Most of the higher-ups, Council included, are trying their best not to induce panic. If everyone in the galaxy realized their scary stories about the Collectors were true, it’d be chaos everywhere. Getting information and making an attempt to stop them would be nearly impossible.”

Anderson seems to mull over this for a long moment. He downs the rest of his drink and runs both hands through his hair, tugging off the elastic with his movements. Connor tries his best not to stare, ultimately failing when Anderson catches his eye. His gaze is intense as he reaches back up to pull the hair out of his face and re-tie the loose strands. He props his hands on his knees as he finishes and grunts in annoyance when a few pieces fall back in front of his eyes. Connor bites back a laugh.

“You and your people can come with us on the raid,” he finally says. “I’ll let you know my decision on your offer after I’ve seen you in action. I can’t trust anyone until I’ve seen them fight with my own eyes.”

Connor suppresses a sigh of relief. He hadn’t expected anything out of his time here, let alone the possibility of an actual recruitment. Anderson seems to be more level-headed than he expected. “That’s understandable.”

“I’ll send you the location of our base. We should be going in at 1800 hours.” Connor rises from his seat as he speaks. Anderson’s hungry gaze has returned, somewhat less intense, as he gives Connor one last glance up and down. It’s distracting, as expected. Connor clears his throat in an attempt to steel himself.

“We’ll see you then.”

Anderson tears his gaze away to gesture to a waiter again and only grunts in response. Connor turns to go as quickly as he can without seeming nervous. He can feel Anderson’s eyes on him as he leaves, and his pulse beats harshly in his ears. If Anderson does end up accepting his offer, life on the ship with him is going to be excruciating.

-

Finding Anderson’s base is easy; it’s located in one of the districts Connor remembers patrolling. There are barely any residents left here, only a few scattered throughout the streets, and even they seem to be associated with the mercenaries in some way.

North and Markus follow him closely as they shove through masses of armor-clad mercenaries, all in the same navy-blue Anderson’s chest plate had boasted at the club. The sharp smell of metal hangs heavily in the air, and Connor can see several huge mechs being operated on at the far end of the base. He spies Anderson at a small table at the end of the room, illuminated by a bright yellow bulb directly above.

Anderson is bent over the table, clad in the same bulky, somehow flattering armor as before. His hair is down now, and Connor watches him run his hands through it in frustration as he speaks. Nervous habit, probably. His eyes shine bright in the fluorescents as he spots Connor and his crew approaching his spot at the table. Anderson’s expression is unreadable when he meets Connor’s eye, but he can tell the older man is tense.

North elbows Connor with a knowing look when she catches sight of him, and Connor scowls in response.

“Not a word.”

She grins and mimes a zipped lip.

Their time here is going to be hellish if Connor can’t mask his attraction well enough for North and Markus not to catch wind of it. Anderson’s attitude is enough to deal with on its own, let alone a barrage of teasing from his own crew.

Anderson crosses his arms and rests a hip against the table as they approach. “Was beginning to think you weren’t gonna show.”

“I don’t go back on my word,” Connor replies. “This is North and Markus. They’ll be joining us.”

Anderson’s stature from where he stands is… overwhelming. Connor has only ever interacted with him while sitting, but the older man boasts a few inches of height over him. His bulk is even more infuriatingly apparent in this position, and it takes every last shred of Connor’s willpower not to give him a proper onceover in his armor.

“Good to meet you both. There’s a small group of my own men that’ll be joining us,” Anderson gestures behind him, “but we don’t have much time for introductions.”

“What’s the plan?” Markus asks.

Anderson turns back to the table and gestures to a map showcasing the layout of one of the residential districts. “Storm them from the side. Take out as much of their artillery and as many guards as we can without alerting anyone in the main base. One of our mechs will be on call if we need it, but I’m hoping things will go alright without it.”

Connor, North, and Markus nod along in tandem. “I can provide a barrier for most of us on the front lines,” Connor begins, “but definitely not the entire group.

Anderson fixes him with a strange gaze, almost impressed. “It’s better than nothing. We don’t have any biotics in the band, so it might be strange for the men. Try to warn ‘em before you do anything.”

Connor nods again. “Of course.”

“Alright,” Anderson grunts and pushes himself off the table. He affixes a huge launcher and a rifle to his back holster with ease and slides another set of pistols in place at his hips. “time to get a fuckin’ move-on then.”

-

Connor had assumed that Anderson’s stature would be a liability from afar, but he moves from cover to cover with a practiced ease, avoiding gunfire and returning his own without so much as a stumble. His military training and experience are apparent in the way he commands his squad and the accuracy with which he shoots. For every gang member dropped by Markus or North’s rifles, another two are matched by Anderson. It’s exhilarating to observe.

Connor knows he’s being watched just as closely as they push through hordes of guards and automated artillery. Instead of growing nervous at the attention, he’s surprised to find himself preening a bit. Connor knows he’s a force to be reckoned with in a firefight- it’s part of the reason he was appointed as a Spectre- and knowing that Anderson is watching him tear through enemies with a practiced ruthlessness shoots a new thrill through him with every gang member downed. He tries to help Anderson wherever he can, throwing enemies out of cover and holding them in the air long enough for the mercenary captain to quickly shoot them down. His efforts are rewarded each time with an impressed glance, and it only serves to make Connor more excited.

They end up next to each other behind cover as they breach through the entrance to the gang’s main base. Somehow, the column they stand behind manages to shield them against the onslaught of bullets directed at the two of them in particular. It seems the gang has figured out the two responsible for most of their deaths.

Anderson pants heavily next to him, and Connor is surprised to hear him let out a low chuckle. They’re standing side by side, so close that Connor feels it when Anderson shakes against him. He’s even more surprised by the excited expression he’s met with when he looks up to meet the older man’s eye.

“Not bad so far, Commander.”

Connor can’t stop the smile that breaks through his composure, or the words that follow. “Seems as if we make a pretty good team.”

Anderson’s expression goes blank just as quickly as Connor’s smile had appeared. He holds Connor’s gaze for far too long, both of them oblivious to the shower of bullets passing by them for a moment. Their bizarre exchange is cut short when Connor spots a guard in the distance behind Anderson, pulling him into the air with a mass effect field and slamming the man’s body into the wall beside them. Anderson’s head snaps behind him in time to see the wall crack with the force of Connor’s throw, and his eyes are wide when turns back to look at him.

“_Fuck_.” It’s barely a murmur, but Connor sees him mouth the word from their proximity more than he hears it.

Connor doesn’t have time to mull over it. At least not now. “There’s a whole mess of them up on the balcony. I can give you a barrier long enough for you to finally use that giant thing weighing you down and get us an opening.”

Anderson’s smirk is back as he reaches behind him to grab the launcher at his back. “Sounds good to me.”

There’s a dim purple glow emitting from them both as Anderson fully assembles the launcher- somehow even larger now than it was when it was resting on his back. Anderson shivers when Connor fully projects the barrier over to him.

“That feels so fuckin’ weird.”

“Hurry up before we miss our chance.

“Yes sir, Commander sir.” Anderson mock salutes with a smirk and barrels out of cover into an onslaught of gunfire.

Connor tries to assist from his spot behind the pillar, firing rounds blindly behind him, but it seems Anderson has no qualms about running headfirst into the bullets spraying all around them. The launcher glows red as he positions himself in front of the balcony where most of the gang members stand- bullets lodging in the mass effect field around him and dropping quickly. The barrier is getting weaker with every shot. “It’s now or never!” Connor shouts.

There’s a bright flash of red light when the launcher fires, and the impact of the massive shot scatters the members on the balcony every which way- exactly as they had hoped. Anderson yells a loud “_Fuck!_” as the shot connects, and the impact sends him sliding back a good foot. The air leaves Connor’s lungs all at once at the sight of him- shoulders squared, legs braced for impact, and teeth bared in an angry grimace as he yells. There’s a gap between Anderson’s front two teeth that he hadn’t noticed before. Connor wonders what it would feel like against his tongue.

“Let’s go, Commander!”

Connor grits his teeth so hard he can hear the slide in his head. _No. Distractions._ How hard is it to remember that?

Anderson’s men flood through entrance and Connor, North, and Markus follow quickly behind. There’s a yelling and the sound of a scuffle up ahead along with a new round of gunfire from above, and as Connor runs to the front of the group, he sees Anderson and, what seems to be, the gang’s leader in a fist fight. Anderson moves quickly, dodging hit after hit, but he missteps and a foot collides roughly with his chest, sending him reeling backward with a loud, pained grunt.

The rest of the band is occupied with what gang members are left inside the building, firing above to the second story and climbing the stairs to down members as fast as they can. None of the assailants seem to take notice of him as Connor dodges bullets on his way to Anderson, the older man attempting to push himself up off the floor in a hurry. Connor finally gets close enough to pull the gang leader into the air, just in time to stop him from cocking his gun and lodging a bullet in Anderson’s side.

The man flails in the air with a shout and Connor slams him down to the ground just as quickly as he picked him up. There’s a grunt behind him as Anderson finally regains his balance and moves to join Connor where he stands above the gang leader, mass effect field shimmering violet as it pins him to the ground.

“Aria says she wants the stupid bastard alive.” Anderson rolls his shoulder with a grimace. “Wasn’t really expecting to find him so easily.”

“Are you alright?” Connor asks.

Anderson blinks, eyes widening slightly as he meets Connor’s eye. “M’fine. We should look around and see if they’ve got any victims holed up here.”

Markus approaches, as if on cue, toting a large tablet. “Found this in his office.” He jerks a thumb at the leader on the ground, who seems to be coming to as he lets out a loud groan. “They keep the victims in a warehouse in another district. It shouldn’t be guarded since most of them were here to defend the base.”

Anderson nods. “I’ll send the rest of the crew down to get them while we take this shithead back to Afterlife. Aria’s goons are waiting to do God knows what to him.”

The gang leader groans again, louder this time, and Connor watches as Anderson scowls and walks back to where he lays. Anderson’s foot comes down hard on the other man’s head, knocking him out with a loud thud just as Connor releases the mass effect field above him. “Shithead,” Anderson mutters. Connor grits his teeth a bit too hard again, pulse thudding in his ears and heart racing at the display. It seems pointless at this point to try and control the arousal sparking through him at everything Anderson does. For the second time, he wonders how excruciating life on the ship will be if he actually accepts his offer.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here. We can load him onto the shuttle out front.”

Connor nods, not trusting his voice to mask how affected he is by everything, and they make for the exit.

-

They end up back at the bar, after all is said and done. The gang leader is handed over to one of Aria’s men, who only nods at them cryptically and sends Anderson his payment, and Connor sends North and Markus back to the ship to prepare for their departure.

Connor downs his drink quickly just as Anderson gestures for another round. There’s already a buzz settling, and Connor decides he’ll have to stop after this round if he wants to keep his actions under control.

“Last one for me,” Anderson mutters, reading his mind somehow, as the bartender slides over another pair of shots. “Otherwise I’ll be stumbling over to the dance floor like an idiot. The shit here is too fuckin’ strong sometimes. Can’t remember the last time I got buzzed this quick.”

Connor hums in agreement. “What I wouldn’t give to be on shore leave without a care in the world right now.”

“Jealous of the drunks having an orgy in public?” Anderson gestures to the mass of bodies tangled together on the dance floor.

Connor scoffs lightly with a nod. “Absolutely. Sweaty, loose, and oblivious to the world around you apart from the music and the people pulling you close? There’s nothing like it.”

Anderson makes a choked noise before he downs his last shot. His expression is one Connor remembers from their first meeting- hungry and predatory. It’s suffocating to hold his gaze, and Connor tears his eye away to watch the dancers again.

“My answer is yes,” Anderson rumbles. “To your offer, I mean.”

Connor’s head snaps back to look at him before he’s even finished talking. Anderson’s expression remains the same as he speaks, and he nods at Connor as he takes a step closer.

“You fight well, and you know how to lead. Not many people have the balls to boss me around, and even less actually fuckin’ succeed at it.”

Connor shifts where he leans against the bar so they’re standing face to face. The distance between them is so short, he can feel the tension again as it settles in the empty space.

“You better not have been lying about that ‘generous compensation’ though.” Connor can’t stop his laugh at the air quotes Anderson gives. “I can’t be risking my ass for nothing, even if we are saving the galaxy.”

“I told you already, I don’t go back on my word.” Connor moves even closer as he speaks, the space between disappearing until they’re standing flush against one another. He can feel the rumble against him as Anderson hums in acknowledgement. It’s exhilarating. “I certainly wouldn’t want you risking your ass if it weren’t for a good cause.” Connor punctuates his words with a glance down. He knows Anderson will notice it. His eyes haven’t left Connor since they began their conversation.

“You flirting with me, Commander?”

Anderson’s stature is overwhelming at this proximity. He dwarfs Connor from where he looks down at him, broad shoulders clearly tensed, despite his teasing tone. It seems they’re both affected by one another in equal measure.

Connor doesn’t respond- just leans in as close as he can without actually meeting Anderson’s lips. He lets the breath he had been holding ghost over them in a slow release, and he revels in the low groan Anderson emits. There’s almost a magnetic pull between them, lips itching to close the distance, but neither of them moves, frozen in place by the tension.

“And what if I was, Captain Anderson?”

It’s Anderson’s turn to exhale against him, and he moves his hand to ghost against Connor’s side, touch resting lightly on his hip. Connor tears his gaze away from the older man’s mouth, and their eyes meet again. He knows Anderson’s hungered expression is only mirrored by his own. He can hear his pulse in his ears again, so fast it almost mirrors the bass pounding in the background.

“I told you- it’s Hank.”

Connor smirks and tilts his head back to peer at the older man through his lashes. He slips his eyes closed and parts his lips teasingly, breathing out a soft “Hank” like a sigh.

And its Hank who finally closes the distance, lips crashing into Connor’s with a desperate fervor that he can do nothing but match in full. Connor parts his lips almost instantly, eager to satisfy the craving gnawing at him for days now in any way he can. Hank groans, low and loud, into their kiss, and Connor is ecstatic to realize he can feel the rumble of it where his bulk is pressed against him.

Connor slips his hands into Hank’s hair, pulling it loose from its tie with ease and letting more fall into the older man’s face. He moans and tugs hard when Hank slips his arms around Connor’s waist, somehow pulling him even closer, and one hand gripping his ass as best he can through the thick armor.

They’re definitely making a scene- Connor knows this- and there’s no way no one in the bar has recognized him, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He’s buzzed from the alcohol and fully drunk on every touch they share. He can’t help his shiver at the feel of Hank’s moan as he slips his tongue into Connor’s mouth, and they’re pressed so close together they both shake a bit with the movement. Nothing could take priority over this, not when the darkness of the club and the pounding in Connor’s ears blocks out everything but the two of them, melding together.

They break apart finally to breathe, but Hank waits only a moment before he’s leaning down to mouth at Connor’s neck, tongue laving at the juncture of his jaw. Hank sucks hard and bites him even harder when Connor slaps his arm in retaliation- and really, there’s no way Connor could regret letting Hank mark him. Not when it feels so incredible and certainly not when he thinks about the fact that Hank’s equally desperate need for him will be visible to all.

Connor claws at Hank’s hair with one hand, the other grasping for purchase at the back of his neck. He pants heavily, leaning down to groan in the older man’s ear before he can stop himself. “I want you.”

“_Fuck _me,” Hank groans against his skin. _That’s the idea_, Connor thinks. Hank bites hard again over a freckle that peeks out from Connor’s collar, and is rewarded with an even louder moan right beside his ear. “I’ve got a room upstairs.”

Connor chuckles breathlessly. “Somebody’s important.”

“Mm, yeah,” Hank hums. He’s moved on to nipping gently at Connor’s ear. “Forgot about your authority problem.”

“Actually,” Connor breathes, “I find it- mm- quite sexy.”

Hank stops his ministrations all at once and jerks his head back up to look at Connor. His lips are pressed into a hard, thin line, but his eyes are wild, pupils blown even wider than before.

“Let’s go.”

Hank pulls away from their embrace to grab Connor’s wrist quickly, pulling him along to meander through the crowd that’s gathered on the bottom floor. Connor’s eyes remain trained on his broad shoulders, only glancing away for a moment to watch Hank’s ass as he shoves past patrons.

He wonders briefly if this is a good idea. They’ll be living on a ship together for the foreseeable future, Connor will be Hank’s superior, and fucking one’s crew members doesn’t generally look good, even as a Spectre. He knows he should probably stop this, make some sort of excuse before it’s too late, but Hank turns back to glance at him as they walk and the ravenous look in his eye coupled with another gap-toothed grin is enough to wipe any coherent doubt from Connor’s mind.

They go up the stairs to a top level, much less occupied, but still just as loud as the main bar. Hank pulls him along to the end of the crimson lit hall until they reach the door he’s looking for, and the moment they stop moving Connor latches onto his neck. Hank turns around to catch his lips in another desperate kiss and waves his omnitool over the lock smoothly, door sliding open behind them long enough for Connor to shove them both inside.

The room is dimly lit in the same crimson glow as the hall, and Connor only has a second to take note of his surroundings before there’s a tight grip on the back of his thighs and he’s promptly lifted into the air to be pushed back against the wall. He can’t help the loud groan it wracks out of him at Hank’s blatant display of strength, arms reaching up to wrap tightly around the older man’s neck. It seems that was the reaction Hank had been looking for, and Connor feels another rumble from his low laugh where they’re pressed against one another. 

“_God_, who dreamed you up?” Hank’s words are punctuated by another squeeze at Connor’s ass where he holds him up, still through the thick armor. Connor desperately wishes his suit wasn’t military grade fiber and Hank could tear it open with his bare hands. He has to remind himself to wear something thinner if they do this again.

“I could ask the same- ah!- same thing.” It’s Connor’s turn to chuckle lightly, though it cuts off when Hank’s dives back in to lave hot, open-mouthed kisses at his neck.

Hank raises his head to meet his lips again, and Connor reciprocates so quickly their front teeth clack together. Neither of them pays it any mind, especially not as Hank moves them away from the wall to walk towards the bed at the end of the room, Connor still clinging firmly with his legs are wrapped the older man’s waist.

Hank lays him down gentler than expected, then pushes himself back up to begin working off his armor. He looks even more massive at this angle, and Connor licks his lips absentmindedly as his eyes train on the large, but deft hands moving to release the latches in Hank’s breastplate. Connor decides quickly that he wants to help, and he wants to get his mouth on him as soon as possible. There’s a large plate of armor resting atop his area of interest, and Connor wrenches it off without a second thought. Hank is wearing the same weave Connor wears beneath the plates, and though the fabric is thick, the bulge of his arousal is unmistakable where it sits inches from Connor’s face.

Hank makes a low, pained noise just as Connor leans forward to press his cheek against his thigh, nose resting lightly over the bulge of his cock. It’s an incredible feeling, realizing that they are both so affected by one another, and Connor decides, as much as he would love to be fucked immediately and fervently, he’d love even more to hear more of the low, pleasured sounds Hank lets loose so freely.

He presses his nose in harder against the fabric, and lets his tongue lave over the bulge lightly, relishing in the loud groan he gets in return.

“_Fuck_-”

Hank’s grunt is loud and choked, and Connor repeats his motion, more forceful this time. He feels Hank’s hands tangle in his hair and tug lightly, and he’s so surprised by how incredible it feels, he lets out a loud, unabashed moan, mouth still pressed over the hill of Hank’s cock under his armor. Hank pulls at his hair even harder, and Connor promptly realizes there’s no way he’ll be able to wait any longer to actually get his mouth around him.

Hank reaches back at the same time Connor reaches up for his waist band, and they both work quickly to push the fabric down. Connor can’t help another groan at the sight of Hank’s cock springing free, suspicions of just how large the older man could be instantly confirmed. Connor lets loose a slow breath and gives himself a moment to appreciate it, thick and heavy and already so, so hard. Hank’s hands slip back into his hair, and Connor moves forward to suck at the tip of his cock lightly, tongue circling the end where it rests between his lips.

“_God_-“

Hank’s grip on his hair grows tighter and Connor presses forward, mouth moving farther over his cock until he’s sure there’s no way he can take anymore. He relishes in how full he feels, and the fact that there’s still more of Hank’s dick left to take in if he wants to reach the base. He wants to press forward, choke harshly against the edge of it deep in his throat, and relish in the reaction it will no doubt prompt from Hank, but he’s wrenched from his thoughts as he hears the other man speak gruffly from above him.

“Holy fuck, baby- you feel so good-“

Hank’s praise wrenches a moan from Connor, mouth still pressed around his dick, and in turn an even louder, choked groan from Hank. For the first time in the night, Connor notices the painful strain of his own erection against his armor and the coil of heat settling desperately in his gut. He palms at himself in an attempt to relieve some of the discomfort, but is ultimately distracted by the slight thrust Hank’s hips give into his mouth. He returns his grip to Hank’s thighs and moves- starts up a slow, torturous rhythm back and forth, relishing in the way Hank’s breaths stutter and his grip on Connor’s hair guides him gently.

He lets his fingers roam under the hem of Hank’s chest armor, hands slipping higher to run through the thick hair underneath. Each full press of Connor’s tongue on the underside of Hank’s cock rewards him with either an exclamation or a groan, and much too soon Hank is pushing him off his dick and back onto the bed behind them.

“Don’t think I can last with that pretty mouth of yours.” He pulls up on what’s left of his armor, finally exposing himself in the low light of room. Connor stares unabashedly at the sight- traces his gaze over the large faded tattoo across Hank’s chest. Hank grins at the attention and presses forward to catch Connor’s mouth in another searing kiss.

“Mm,” Connor hums against him, “next time we’ll have to just let you have your way with it then.”

Hank leans back to affix him with an interested look, eyebrows raised high and lip curled up into a smug smirk. “Next time?”

Connor feels the heat of his flush rise to his cheeks. Of course. They haven’t even slept together yet and he’s already running his mouth. Who’s to say this isn’t a one-time deal for Hank, despite their shared passion? Maybe the fact that they’ll be living together on a ship with nowhere to run is too much, or too awkward. “I didn’t mean- _shit_-.“

Hank cuts him off to tear at the back fastenings of Connor’s armor, pulling the fabric off his arms and chest and leaning in immediately to lick a hot stripe against Connor’s collarbone.

“I think-“ he stops to lick another stripe, up Connor’s neck this time, “-that’s a great idea, baby.”

Connor feels the grin where Hank’s mouth rests against his skin, and shudders, body glowing dim violet for a few seconds before the light disappears completely. The sudden barrier surprises him, but Hank doesn’t seem to notice, too occupied leaving kisses and nips against Connor’s skin until he reaches a nipple. He bites harder against the flesh and grins again at Connor’s whine.

“Hank- please, I want you.”

He can’t believe he’s practically begging, especially after they’ve done so little, but he _needs _Hank, so much so it frightens him a bit. He’s so blinded by desire, he apparently can’t even fully control his biotics.

“You do, do you?” Hank is back to being a smug shit, and yes- it’s very hot, but Connor doesn’t have the patience. Not when they’re this close and he’s still not naked, despite Hank’s full state of undress.

Reading his mind for the nth time, Hank reaches down to push away the remains of Connor’s armor, grinning wide as he’s finally exposed in the dim glow of the room. Thick, calloused hands run up Connor’s legs slowly, stopping briefly as Hank finds a new freckle to bite over. The attention is overwhelming, and Connor can hear himself panting hard as he watches below.

“Fuck- you look so good like this, baby.”

When he finally reaches Connor’s hips, Hank grasps and guides him gently to roll over. Connor braces himself on his elbows and groans when Hank’s grip tightens and pulls his bare ass into the air, hands wrapped firmly around the front of Connor’s thighs.

“Been thinkin’ about this since the second I saw you.”

Connor heaves an audbile gasps when he feels Hank bite harshly at the curve of his ass, heart pounding even faster where his fist is braced against it. There’s a good chance he won’t last through this, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

His brain short-circuits the second Hank’s tongue licks a hot, wet trail against him. He can’t even tell what he’s moaning out anymore as it presses inside him, pushing forward to stretch him open little by little. Connor’s head falls forward with a loud “_Hank!_” and the groan he feels rumble against him, Hank’s tongue still working him open through it, sends a powerful shudder through them both.

He feels another barrier press itself forward involuntarily, and before he can even process it there’s a bright pulse of violet light illuminating the room, there and gone again in an instant. Hank doesn’t miss it this time, but doesn’t let up on his assault, only stopping for a second to give a questioning hum where his face is buried in Connor’s ass.

He sucks hard against the tight ring of muscle one last time before letting go with a loud, sinful sound, hands running up against Connor’s back as he rises from his position.

“Should I be worried about that?”

“Probably not,” Connor manages.

Hank huffs a laugh. “There’s lube in the drawer to your right.”

Connor doesn’t want to move- and isn’t really sure if he can- but fuck, if the idea of finally getting some much-needed friction isn’t appealing. His cock, still untouched, rubs gently against the bed sheets as he crawls toward the edge of the bed, and he sighs at the slight relief, though it’s not nearly enough. He finds the lube without looking, tossing it back to Hank over his shoulder and pushing himself back up to return to his place between Hank’s knees, weight braced against his arms as he looks back.

Hank leans forward to catch him in another fervent kiss, teeth biting harshly into Connor’s bottom lip before he pulls back to kiss across his shoulder blades, hands moving to grab at the bottle of lube. Connor drinks in the sight of him when he pulls back, barrel-chested and towering over Connor’s frame on the bed, and Hank gives him a wink and another gap-toothed grin when he catches his eye. Connor huffs out an exasperated laugh and drops his forehead back to rest against his arms on the bed.

For a moment, Connor feels nothing apart from the press of Hank’s legs where they’re braced on either side of him, but soon, a slick finger prods at his entrance and pushes forward gently, wrenching an unintelligible moan from the back of his throat.

He hears Hank chuckle as he presses his finger forward, and Connor turns back to scowl at him. It loses some of its fire when he’s met with the cool blue of Hank’s eyes again, and Connor wonders briefly if Hank is enjoying himself as much as he is.

His question is answered quickly as he drops his gaze. Hank’s cock is slick with lube already, tip flushed a bright red, and he looks just as achingly hard as Connor feels. He watches as Hank gives himself a few languid strokes, all the while working Connor open with the addition of a second finger.

There are a few moments where nothing can be heard above the blaring of the music below them aside from Connor’s own panting in his ears, and when Hank finally pushes a third finger into him, Connor can hardly wait any longer.

He presses back against Hank’s hand with a whine, but Hank only leans forward to kiss at his nape. The bulk of his upper body is pressed perfectly along Connor’s spine, and they share a groan when Hank reaches a hand under them to wrap around Connor’s cock.

“M’ ready,” Connor mumbles, “need you- _now_.”

Hank heaves a shaky exhale and pulls back without a word. Connor can feel where the tip of Hank’s cock rests against his ass, slick and warm as it grazes against his skin. He watches as Hank takes himself in hand, pressing his dick forward painstakingly slow. Connor figures he’s trying to be cautious, maybe even considerate, but now is not the time.

Hank’s face is clearly strained, but equally determined as he pushes further slowly. Connor groans, more out of exasperation with their pace than pleasure, and he watches as the air blurs around Hank’s shoulders. In the same moment that Connor presses himself back in irritation, Hank’s hips are thrust forward with unexpected force, mass effect field rippling around them both as he’s sunken to the hilt in Connor’s ass.

“_Fuck!”_

The force of Hank’s thrust hits them both like a train. Hanks yells louder than Connor’s heard him the entire night, voice low and hoarse from arousal, and Connor throws his head back with a satisfied wail. Hank’s heavy hands reach forward to grasp at Connor’s shoulders, holding Connor at arm’s length as he slowly pulls himself out and presses back in.

It seems that Connor’s inadvertent use of biotics had been all the motivation Hank needed, and after his initial movement, he starts up a thunderous pace, hips slamming against Connor loud enough to be heard over the music.

Connor can no longer form proper words, let alone process what he’s saying, resulting only in an almost incoherent mantra of “_Hank!”_ shouted toward the ceiling. Hank does not let up on his brutal pace, only slowing for a moment to wrap his arms around Connor’s chest and pull him back against his bulk. Connor turns his head and they share a messy, openmouthed kiss, moaning into one another’s mouths as Hank slams into Connor’s prostate with the new angle.

The telltale coil of release builds itself quickly in Connor’s gut, and he reaches down to stroke at himself through Hank’s onslaught. Hank presses forward to lick a hot stripe against Connor’s nape, and as he reaches back to tangle a hand in Hank’s hair, Connor notices the space around him glow violet again.

The glow doesn’t flicker, instead remaining bright and steady as Connor turns back to check Hank’s reaction. He can see that they’re both encompassed by his barrier this time, and he can tell Hank is just as aroused by this as he is when their eyes meet again.

He watches as Hank grits his teeth, slams into Connor with even more force than he had thought possible, and bites hard against Connor’s shoulder, mass effect field blurring Connor’s vision again where it ripples around him. The sight is both perfect and all too much to handle, and Connor meets his release with a long, satisfied cry, vision going bright purple as the barrier pulses harder around them.

Hank fucks him through his orgasm, pace stuttering at the sight of Connor’s reaction, but picking up again quickly. Connor lets himself slump back against Hank’s chest, hand reaching back to tangle in his hair once again, and he pants against Hank’s cheek where their faces are pressed against one another.

“Come for me.” His throat feels worn and he sounds as fucked out as he feels, but Hank does exactly as he says.

Connor hears him gasp, then groan as he buries himself to the hilt in Connor’s ass, hips stuttering as he spills his release inside him.

They pant heavily, faces still pressed against one another, until Hank finally pulls back to give Connor an awe-struck gaze.

“Holy fuck.”

“Yeah,” is all Connor can manage.

The bright purple glow has dimmed to a pale lavender around them, and Connor feels the last of it dissipate as they both collapse forward onto the bed.

Hank’s keeps him wrapped in his arms and tugs Connor up to lay against his chest, heartbeat mirroring Connor’s own pulse in his ears.

They don’t say anything for a while, opting instead to catch their breath against one another, until Hank lets out a breathy chuckle that shakes through them both. Connor raises up on an elbow to give him a questioning look.

Hank trails a hand lightly down Connor’s spine as he grins at him. “Just glad I ended up accepting your offer after all.”

Connor raises a brow. “Don’t think this means you’ll be getting special treatment.”

Hank shoots him a mock expression of shock. “Oh no, Commander, I would _never_.”

“Who’s to say this wasn’t just a one-time thing, anyway?”

It wasn’t. It won’t be. They both know it, and Connor can’t help the smile that spreads across his face at the knowing look they share.

“Funny- I think I recall someone blurting out a ‘next time’ a few moments ag- hey!”

Connor bites the spot on his shoulder he’d smacked for good measure, but it only serves to make Hank shudder more with laughter.

“I’ll have to let Aria know I’m going M.I.A. for a while,” Hank says when his laughter dies down.

Connor looks sheepish when he speaks. “Maybe try to avoid mentioning my name when you talk to her.”

Hank peers at him curiously.

“She probably already knows I’m here anyway but… We have a bit of an- _annoying_ history.”

Hank’s gaze does not falter. “And by that you mean…?”

Connor sighs exasperatedly and buries his face further against Hank’s chest. “Too tired. I’ll tell you next time.”

Hank only chuckles again in response and pulls Connor tighter against him. The bustle of Afterlife is still audible through the thin walls of the private room, but Hank seems to be used to it and Connor is too tired to care. He wonders absentmindedly at the fact that Markus and North will never let him live this down when they return to Jericho tomorrow. He laughs softly at the thought and slips into sleep with a tired smile, lulled by Hank’s even breaths against him.

**Author's Note:**

> hank do be kinda big tho
> 
> i am on [twitter](https://twitter.com/stanhank)


End file.
